


Healing Hands

by Chimerical_Acatalepsy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allies, BAMF Cora, BAMF Derek, BAMF Jackson, BAMF Stiles, Cora Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hale Family Feels, Healer Stiles, Hurt Derek, Jealous Derek, Kanima Jackson Whittemore, M/M, Mage Stiles Stilinski, Mutual Pining, Pack Building, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Protective Derek Hale, Protective Jackson, Sane Peter, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Jackson Whittemore Friendship, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimerical_Acatalepsy/pseuds/Chimerical_Acatalepsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mieczyslaw 'Stiles' Stilinski is a white mage trying to find some distance. Revered for his power and knowledge, Stiles finds solace in his friend Jackson and the abandoned Farm he calls home. But evil is lurking in the forest. Something is disturbing the natural balance. The tentative truce he has with the Hale Pack is going to be put to the test. </p><p>And it all starts when Cora brings her injured brother to him for a healing one winter night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you so much for reading this! I’m kind of terrified to post this, since it’s the first time I’ve actually written anything for Teen Wolf and to be honest it's my first foray back into FanFiction in a little while. I hope you all enjoy this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it so far. Thank you again for your time, please enjoy! :) 
> 
> Josh

 

People knew the name Stilinski. But not many knew where to find him. Not that he was a household name or anything, at least among the mortals. To the supernatural community, Stilinski was a name of power. Specifically, it was a name synonymous for White Magic. That was because Stilinski was a White Mage notorious for his knowledge and excessive mercy--as long as you could find him. Which was mostly a problem only reserved for small packs lacking an Emissary with any formal training. The Old Families knew him, because they had known his mother. 

Before she had passed from Frontotemporal Dementia, Claudia Michelle Stilinski had been the most powerful White Mage along the Western Seaboard. Her son, known only by his abbreviated name ‘Stiles’, had inherited both her skill and resource. 

To escape his name, Mieczyslaw ‘Stiles’ Stilinski had moved out to an abandoned Farmhouse outside of Pasadena. 1958 acres of pristine, empty farmland that had been slowly eaten away by the surrounding cedar forest by the time he’d gotten through escrow. He’d left the forest be, clearing only two acres around the farmhouse for better vantage points of whoever or whatever was headed his way. 

Though his wards would alert him to visitors, friendly or otherwise, he had one more system of protection; Jackson Whittemore, his best friend. In 2008, in their senior year of High School, Jackson had been bitten by a rogue Alpha. Instead of changing into a Beta however, and dealing with normal problems like moon cycles and stray hunters, he had become a Kanima. Stiles had spent the greater part of his Senior year traipsing through the woods or dark city alleys looking for his friend-and in the process they had bonded intimately. 

Now, Jackson, padded by a seemingly never ending trust fund, had taken up residence at The Farmhouse, patrolling the borders of the property, assisting Mieczyslaw with his more challenging spells, and more often than not, fussing and prodding Mieczyslaw (or Miec, affectionately) into resting and taking care of himself. 

The Farmhouse in question was once a beautiful three story Plantation style home, with wide colonnades framing the front porch and holding up the balcony leading out from the second story library. However time and a small fire due to stray lighting had reduced it to a decrepit ghost of it’s former grandeur. The entire western wing of the third story had collapsed from structural damage into the second floor, which had shattered the wooden floorboards of the second floor and cracked the support beams on the first. Which basically meant that in a sprawling house, Mieczyslaw only had access to six rooms on the very first floor. 

Though he could have used a part of his relatively adequate fortune to quickly fix the house, Mieczyslaw liked working on it himself, particularly after hard days in the greenhouse or his makeshift library. Case in point, tonight Miec and Jackson were sanding down the wide pine boards in the newly cleared solarium. It was relatively quiet besides the crackling fire from the wood stove and the steady hum of the sander.  
Or it was. 

Until Jackson shifted. 

His claws were out in an instant and, as Miec watched, vibrant scales began to form along Jackson’s long neck, fanning out along his jawbone and up toward his ear. He was already crouched down in front of Miec, who had been in the midst of scraping rust off of an ancient window hinge. 

“Jaxs? Who’s coming? What is it?” He was already standing, pulling up the sleeves of his sweater. Jackson only hissed, nudging him backward even as his fingers shifted into webbed claws.

His wards hadn’t activated, which meant that whoever coming had no ill intent toward him and yet he was afraid. Jackson didn’t shift for just any reason. There were only two reasons why he would shift in the first place. Either the scent of whoever was coming made Jackson tense, or the injury was severe. 

In this case, it was both. They didn’t even bother to knock on the door. Instead, it’s pushed open roughly, banging against the wall with a loud thunk. Jackson growls again, louder-probably tell whoever to fuck themselves for the dent it probably caused. But Mieczyslaw is already running, because whoever it is is carrying dragging in a man too bloody and broken to recognize. 

“Healer Stilinski! Healer, please...my brother…” she trails off, huffing as she drags him over the threshold into the house. The door swings closed behind them, locking with a soft click but Stiles is already preparing the kitchen table before they even get there. 

“In the back. Get him onto the table, lay him so whichever side is more injured is facing me. I have to get a look. Is he conscious?” He splashes peroxide onto the wood, scrubs it roughly with a cloth he conjured from the cupboard overflowing with his medicinal supplies. 

He recognizes her, despite the blood smeared across her cheek, when she gently lowers him down on his stomach. Cora Hale, a Beta from the relatively small pack just beyond the hills, closer to the town. She’s pale and shaking, puffing breaths.

Jackson is back in the room, a cup of steaming purple liquid in one of his mother’s old china teacups. He settles it in her palm, wraps her fingers around the handle for her, and waits until she registers it. Then he brushes a thumb up over her collarbone before turning to him. 

“The Hawthorne chest. I need it and the salve I made for the McGuire Pack.” Jackson’s already off, and Miec turns back toward the man on the table. He conjures a pair of shears he usually uses to prune the Roses in the back garden, and begins to cut away the leather jacket he’s wearing, which has become tacky and stiff with dried blood. “What happened?” 

“I...I don’t. We were in the forest, patrolling. There was something off. The animals were acting funny, like they do before an earthquake. Our Alpha had us looking. And then the next thing I know this thing is pummeling my brother and slamming him into the trees. I got him away, but...all I could think of was you. I don’t have money, but…” 

“No money. I have enough. Don’t worry we’ll fix him right up. He’ll be up and howling before the waxing gibbous.” He gives up with the scissors, and just grabs the fabric, tearing it quickly with one violent pull. The shirt underneath is vibrantly red, and Mieczyslaw can feel his essence singing to him. This time, he is more careful when he cuts away the shirt, prying the fabric slowly in case it catches on his skin. Werewolf or not, having your skin torn off is not good. 

Jackson is back, the Hawthorne chest under his arm, a decanter filled with bright green liquid clenched in his fist. “What goes first?” 

“I need the mustard seed paste for the cuts, and then the lilac and honey extract for the very deep cuts.” The chest is open. Usually, when he’s working with the chest he can smell the wafting aroma of vegetation. It calms his mind and settles his usually twitching fingers. But now all he can smell is blood and hurt. 

“I need you to hold Derek down. He cannot move, and this isn’t exactly going to be pleasant once I start.” 

Her fingers gently settle around his shoulders, while she leans down to whisper barely audible encouragements to him. Mieczyslaw doesn’t bother telling her that her brother is so far submerged into his pain he couldn’t possibly hear her, and instead he and Jackson begin to get to work. As he scoops out the salve into his palm, he hums, sending worship to Aceso to bless the healing. 

The first touch is excruciating, and Cora obviously is not prepared. Derek howls, back bending as he arches off the table and he hears another bone crack, sending Derek back down into a dizzying spiral of pain. “Hold him” he warns her sternly, brow furrowed as he smooths the honey and lilac extract onto the first long gash where razor sharp claws must have buried themselves. The extract looks like oil, and yet when it touches the wound it immediately clouds over, becoming opaque as it swirls downward into the wound. 

On his other side, Jackson has begun to plaster yellow mustard seed paste onto the cuts littering his left side. As they go, they catalog the broken bones they feel shifting under their fingertips. It’s frankly amazing Derek was able to stand at all, and that’s only by feeling his vertebrae.  
The salves are working. The cuts are slowly stitching together. If Mieczyslaw had the time, he could watch the tendons in the deep cuts stitch together. Instead he begins to chant, slowly and softly so as not to startle the Hale siblings. Derek is beginning to come around, moaning softly, his body vibrating with the healing. When the largest and most serious cuts have faded into pink, angry skin Mieczyslaw sets down the vial of extract and washes his hands. One of the first rules he’s ever learned, was to never mix the salves. It was dangerous not only for the patient but also the healer. He’d heard the horror stories--exploding concoctions or suddenly acidic ointments. Besides, his hands are stained by Derek’s blood, which makes his stomach queasy. 

When he comes back over with a large glass, Derek is awake, looking up past his impressive eyebrows with bleary eyes. He isn’t talking, probably too busy trying not to panic or scream, but his eyes convey his thanks. Which...he’ll probably take back soon. 

He pours the contents of the decanter into the glass, holding his breath against the fumes which make him giddy and high. This is powerful magic, something that took many moons and meditations to concoct but it will do the job. It heals the bones from the inside, even regrowing shattered bones and torn ligaments. Whatever is going on inside, this will set it to rights. 

He adds in a generous helping of orange juice, stirring the mixture counterclockwise eleven times before tossing the spoon, which lands in the sink with a soft clang. He brings the mixture over to Derek, who glances at it warily. 

“This will suck. But you’ll get better. Drink all of it, and don’t you dare puke it up.” 

He turns around and leaves him too it, sure that his presence is only going to further upset him. He often has that effect on the wounded, who suddenly regress to small children in their pain. It doesn’t upset him, not anymore. 

Instead, he takes the time to stop up the vials, and lock up the chest, which Jackson gathers into his arms and carts away immediately with all the reverence it is owed. That chest has saved many a life since it’s creation. It makes him proud. 

There is a gentle clink, and when he looks it is Cora setting the now empty cup on the ground. Derek looks green, but focused-a good sign. Vomiting would further aggravate his internal wounds and waste precious potion that he’d quite literally slaved for. 

Jackson returns, smiling softly to Cora before handing him a roll of elastic bandages. “Eventually,” he explains to her, “we’ll have to wrap the wounds, to let them really seep into the skin. For now though, I’ll let him rest. Are you hurt?” 

She shakes her head, looking dead on her feet. “If you could only write out what is due, I can take him back to our Alpha. I don’t want to impose any more than we have.”  
He only hums, turning on the far left burner before lighting it with a match. He sets the kettle-a robin blue one he’d gotten as a gift from Jackson one Christmas and without looking back explains that that won’t be possible. “Your brother needs to rest, and I need to keep observing him to make sure the salves are working. You’re more than welcome to stay the night if you wish it.” 

In a large cup, he places a homemade teacup with a special herbal blend to help her settle and sleep, then pours the hot water. She looks like a sugar girl, but the sweetener would only disrupt the calming properties and make it useless. So he just hands it to her as is. 

“My bedroom is down the hall. The sheets are clean and pillow is cool. When you wish it, go and rest. I’ll be around if you need me, but you should both try to sleep. You especially” he says, running his fingers through thick black hair, “the potion makes you ache now, but in a few hours it will be almost excruciating. The more you rest now, the smoother the process will be later.” 

Derek nods, or at least attempts to, and shuts his eyes after gently squeezing his sister’s hand. 

Cora nods as well, eyes wide but shoulders sagging with relief for the first time tonight. 

Later, she helps him coax Derek into up off the table long enough for him to firmly wrap the bandages around his torso, murmuring encouragement to him for doing so well despite the pain. He makes a point to ignore the little whimpers with each movement. He lays a soft pillow on the table, and gentles his head onto it, pushing damp bangs away from his forehead tenderly. 

He comes back an hour later with a thick quilt to find Cora asleep in a chair next to the table, head laid on her brother’s shoulder. He drapes it over her, checks his patient, and then returns to the Solarium where he leans against the wall with his own blanket. Jackson is there, shirtless and cool to the touch. He leans against him, eyes already heavy while Jackson cards through his hair, massaging his scalp with blunt fingertips. 

“Sleep, Miec. I’ll awake you if anything changes with Hale.” 

Mieczyslaw nods against Jackson’s pec, letting the gentle beat of his heart and the crackling fire lull him into darkness. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day is an early start. When Derek revives around 7:30 a.m., the sun is already singing to him. Cora had awoken earlier, in time to join him for a bountiful breakfast of wheat cakes and freshly diced fruit, with real, soft margarine and glasses filled with chilled orange juice while standing by the large bay windows overlooking the sloping South side of his property. At first she only nibbles, inspecting each piece of food before she samples it. But soon she is eating with gusto, quietly glancing around the spacious kitchen. 

He’s honestly a little insulted by how surprised they both are at Derek’s recovery, though Jackson only grins at him from behind their backs. Derek’s skin is like new, unblemished except for the triskelion tattoo between his shoulder blades that Mieczyslaw can’t say he remembers from last night. He tries not to stare too much at Derek’s bare chest as he gives instructions for Derek’s full recovery. 

He presses a package of his herbal tea into Cora’s grateful hands before they leave, the brown paper package crinkling between her palms as she repeats her thanks over and over. Derek, for the most part, just stares at him while blinking slowly. He thinks his eyes dart behind him to Jackson, who still hasn’t put on a shirt, a few times but then they are off at a soft trot toward the forest and the boundary of the wards. He waits at the door, letting the cool December air brush against his skin, until they pass the wards and are off his property. Then he shuts the door. 

The rest of the morning, they put the kitchen back together. Mieczyslaw scrubs the kitchen table with a cleaning solution of his own design to remove the bloodstains and sanitize the area, and then he spends some time doing the dishes by hand while Aretha Franklin croons over the speakers. 

Towards noon, while polishing the windows of the Solarium, Jackson comes in with food--heaps of wild green and spinach salads drenched in balsamic. A plate of carrot sticks and glasses of green tea take up the rest of the space on the tray. He sets it down on the unfinished reading nook, and beckons him over. 

Jackson waits until he’s had a few bites before he broaches the subject looming between them. “Are you going to get involved?” he asks carefully, sipping his green tea while twirling a carrot stick in his other. 

He shrugs, though he knows the answer. “I may. But only if it incites another incident. You know I’m supposed to keep a balance. It’s why I refused the pack when Peter offered.” 

Jackson nods and munches slowly on his salad for a few moments more. “You know, I couldn’t help but notice your affinity for Derek Hale.” 

“Well he was bleeding on the kitchen table and in excruciating pain. I’m not exactly a heartless son of a bitch, surprisingly.” 

“I’ve just never seen you so hyper aware of a patient before. You must have checked on him a dozen times during the night. Even though you know I would alert you if anything were amiss.” 

“Well, he happens to be the nephew of the Hale Alpha. You can’t tell me that’s not an extenuating circumstance. If he died under my care, I’d be lucky if this house were razed to the ground.” 

Jackson concedes, palms raised in defeat. for a brief moment. He allows Mieczyslaw to gather his thoughts while sipping on his tea, before broaching the second subject. “Are you going to look into it?”

He sighs, pushing his plate away and standing to look out the windows, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “There is something in those woods. Something dark. If they cannot stop whatever it is, I’m afraid we’ll have no choice but to deal with it. They’re always attracted to the light.” 

“I won’t let them hurt you.” 

“Nor I you.”

“Those wounds were made by an Alpha, weren’t they?” Jackson asks softly. From the reflection in the mirror, he watches Jackson pace to the stove, and throw a new log onto the pile, the fire sparking back to life. 

“Mhm. Maybe. It could explain why Derek couldn’t heal from the wounds himself. But I doubt it’s a wolf. They would have been able to identify it if it were. This is something else. Something foreign.” 

“Shall I grab the books?” 

Mieczyslaw nods, stooping to collect the tray. “Thank you for lunch. I’d probably forget to ever eat without you.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter paced the porch, nose trained for the scent of his errant pups. He had sent them on patrol more than twelve hours ago and yet he had heard nothing from them. His wolf was restless, snarling at him when he tried to divert his attention to other matters. His wolf demanded he find his pups, bring his pack home and keep them in his den. Yet he had to keep his head. 

There was something in the woods. 

Something trying to take territory. Something trying to wrangle a plot of land from under his very nose. In his own territory. It wouldn’t do to lose his tenuous control and go out searching for them, not without any backup. The nearest pack were in Burbank. The nearest supernatural was Healer Stilinski, and he had promised the boy not to bother him except in the most dire circumstances. That was still a ways off, though how long he could realistically keep him uninvolved still remained to be seen. Though he lived with his Kanima friend and had power in his own right, they were still probably not prepared enough to deal with this threat on their own. He’d have to at least warn him. 

Wolf calls in the near distance had him moving toward the front drive. They were close, coming up from the forest toward the street. Luckily, on a Wednesday afternoon practically everybody was out of the house, so nobody would think anything were remiss about two college aged adults walking from the forest, looking...rested. 

Anger flared, and as it did, he took one gigantic sniff. He smelled the woods, the decay of leaves. But he also smelled herbs, freshly sanded wood, and magic. 

They had been to the healer’s house. 

He waited, claws digging into his palms as they clomped up the porch steps and into the house. Cora set down a brown paper package on the coffee table, seating herself on the leather loveseat while Derek leaned stiffly against the wall. 

“What happened? Are you hurt? Why did you bother Healer Stilinski when I expressly warned you to stay clear of his wards?” 

“If you’re going to blame someone, blame me. It’s my fault. I wasn’t being careful and I was hurt. We were patrolling near the ravine when something attacked us. It was large and powerful, and it hurt me pretty badly. I don’t know how she managed it, but Cora dragged me two miles to the Healer’s house. He and his... pet set me straight, but they wouldn’t let me leave until morning so Stiles could check me over. I’d probably be dead if it weren’t for him.”

He nods, eyes raking up and down Derek’s form, before glancing at Cora who is already dozing on the couch, face smashed into the armrest. Heart beating out of his chest, he gathers Derek to his chest and clings to him, his wolf finally settling when Derek clenches his fists into his shirt, tucking his head into Peter’s neck. 

“I’m glad you’re okay” Peter whispers hoarsely. 

“Me too.” 

“Did you give payment for his services?” 

Derek blushes, the pink tinge spreading over the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “He apparently wouldn’t let Cora, though she really had nothing with her. We’re all in his debt again. Him and his Kanima boyfriend.” 

“You know as well as I do that Jackson Whittemore is his friend and guardian, not his boyfriend. There is nothing romantic nor sexual between them.” 

“You didn’t see them this morning.” 

“Well, if it bothers you that much you should probably do something about it before someone actually comes along that’s more than a threat than Jackson.” 

Derek rolls his eyes, but refuses to meet his gaze. “There’s nothing to be done, because there’s nothing to feel. He’s not pack. He’s just a healer.” 

“A powerful, very beautiful healer though. Perhaps, since there is nothing going on between you both, I may pursue him myself? He’d make an exceptional Alpha Mate.” he says, grinning at the low growl that escapes his nephew’s mouth. 

“I’m going to make some of the tea Stiles gave us. I’m supposed to rest until the gibbous moon two days from now if I want my full strength back.” 

“You do that nephew. And I’ll have you off to Stiles’ with payment afterward. He saved your life after all.” 

Derek swallows, looking down at the package of tea in his hands, before minutely nodding and heading toward the kitchen. From the couch, Cora lets out a rather undignified snort, curling up into herself in her sleep. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Authors Note:  
Come visit me on Tumblr! Lets be friends and talk about Teen Wolf :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a visit to the Hale Pack den, things devolve from bad to worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the overwhelming response to this story. I didn't exactly know how things were going to go, but you all blew me away. Thank you for your reviews, I loved reading and responding to every one. Sorry for the longer hiatus, I had finals week and they were particularly stressful this year. Enjoy the story, and thanks for reading!

“Healer Stilinski, what an unexpected surprise,” Alpha Hale states in lieu of a greeting as he stands tall on the steps leading off the back veranda of the Hale Pack Estate. 

He’s not at all surprised that Alpha Hale has intercepted him before he’s even stepped off the grass, werewolf hearing being as enhanced as it was. But still, his sudden, silent appearance sets him on edge. Alpha Hale is an apex predator, and the weight of his eyes sends a spike of unease racing up his spine. It brings him to a stop, rooting his feet to the ground. Only the gentle bump of Jackson’s shoulder against him dislodges him. 

Stiles tilts his head slightly to the left, exposing the pale column of his throat in deference to the Alpha, as custom demands when entering claimed territory. His hands flutter against the rough fabric of his khakis. “Alpha Hale,” he greets, voice consciously steady, “a pleasure to see you so well.”

Stiles watches nervously as the Alpha’s nostrils flare, sniffing out his scent but his nerves melts away when he catches the subtle upward twitch of a smile. “The pleasure is mine, and what an honor it is to have such an acclaimed healer in my territory. I hope all is well?” he asks, shuffling back up the stairs to the grand deck behind him. 

He nods, climbing the stairs slowly to join the Alpha. He offers his hand, feeling as though he were holding it too close to his little wood-burning stove as the Alpha encases it with his own, squeezing lightly. “I’ve just come to check on your Beta’s. I normally wouldn’t, but I thought Derek’s injuries were severe enough to allow for a follow up.” Jackson nudges him again, still a few steps below him, and Stiles takes the proffered package. “I, uh, brought some more herbal tea, to help you all sleep.” 

Alpha Hale nods, gesturing for Stiles and Jackson to follow him through a set of french doors leading off the verandah, framed on either side by potted ferns that sing to his magic as he passes. The Alpha leads him through what must be the pack den, a room dominated by a large comfortable looking teal couch piled with plush pillows, and into the kitchen. Derek and Cora are both there, munching lazily on bland looking muesli. Both stand when they see their guests. 

“Healer Stilinski was kind enough to drop by to check on you, Derek. Seems you’ve left quite an impression.” 

He feels the heat radiating off his cheeks. When he glances up, he sees Derek has his arms crossed across his chest, and is scowling at him like he wants to maim him. “Well his bloodstains on my kitchen table sure did at any rate,” he snarks, smiling to show that there’s no heat in his words. Cora smiles at him, but Derek is looking down at his bowl of cereal and misses it entirely. 

There’s an awkward silence in the kitchen, unbroken even when he makes a joke about having Derek strip for him. He tries not to stand too close to make him uncomfortable, even as his fingers ghost over the fresh, pink skin on Derek’s back. He can still see the injuries were made by claws, but the jagged edges have healed entirely and now they look more like they were caused by leaning against a slatted surface for too long. Derek’s skin still radiates damaged energy, which stirs his magic up into a energetic buzz beneath his fingertips but it’s a much more manageable feeling than the frenetic swarm it had been that night when the gashes were still weeping blood. 

“Have you tried shifting into your Beta form yet?” 

“No. I’ve been resting, like you ordered,” Derek gruffly replies. 

He hums, tracing the largest scratch up Derek’s side, over the ridges of his lumbar and over to the edge of his spinal column, ignoring the shiver that ripples under his skin. “Ever find that thing?” he finally asks, looking up at Alpha Hale who is hovering nearby, and then past him to Cora, who is looking decidedly grey. 

“Unfortunately, no. We had to stop patrol, when Derek first came home. When we went back to the area of the attack, there was no lingering scent. Whatever it was, it’s vanished,” Alpha Hale said, voice skewed by growing fangs. 

“I checked into it. After both your Derek and Cora left, I went through some of my field journals. When I first came to the area, I went on a spiritual journey in the forest. I saw many fantastic creatures in the wood. But I’ve seen nothing that could have made those marks on Derek.” 

“So…that means whatever is in the woods is a migrating creature? Maybe it already left?” Cora inserts, voice hopeful as she glances between her Alpha and Stiles. 

Stiles shakes his head, lips pressed into a thin line. “There are creatures that migrate, you are right. Like Dragons and Sasquatch. But, they are few and far between. Most are territorial by nature. It’s what has kept them safe and out of sight for millennium.” 

“So whatever this is…it’s not a natural creature” Alpha Hale murmurs, looking out the window at the woods beyond the natural boundaries of his yard. 

“And not a native species to the area. I’d be hesitant to say more, but I will look for something more in one of the other tomes in my library. Hopefully I will find something in them that will point in the right direction,” Stiles says, reaching into his pocket for a small vial of swirling silver liquid. He unstops it, the subtle aroma of roses in late summer perfuming the air around them.

“What is that?” Alpha Hale asks, stepping closer. Stiles doesn’t need to look up to see the worried face the Alpha must sporting. 

“It’s just a little something to help mend the skin. I’m going to gently rub it into your back Derek, as long as it’s okay.” 

Derek nods silently, hands curling around the back of a chair until it creaks. Stiles is supremely careful when he rubs the potion into Derek’s skin, humming softly to help the magic as he kneads the muscle underneath. Derek’s muscles are tense under his skin, but slowly relax under his careful fingers until he’s almost pliant under his touch. He finally pulls away, looking up to meet the Alpha’s eyes. 

“Thank you, Healer, for your diligent care. The Hale Pack is indebted to you for all of your time,” Alpha Hale says. Stiles ignores the timbre of relief coloring his voice. 

“There was no trouble Alpha, really,” he says, scratching carelessly at the back of his head, his other resting for a moment on Derek’s back as the pink strips of skin slowly fade away into his naturally toned, tanned skin. 

Derek stands, stretching his arms up and over his head with a groan. His muscles bunch and ripple under his skin, and Stiles diverts his eyes, willing himself to look back out toward the forest before the wolves smell his arousal. Derek turns around, looking over his shoulder to see his reflection in the steel doorway of the fridge. Stiles sneaks glances as he moves the chair back under the table and re-stops the vial, watching Derek’s eyes trace down over the reflection of his back, looking in fascination as the last pinkness disappears. 

“Thank you, for...everything.” Derek says, looking him in the eye for the very first time that day. Stiles smiles, then turns to look at Jackson while Derek puts on his shirt. 

“We should be going. It’s a long walk, and for the time being the woods are no longer safe.” 

“My Betas shall escort you back to your territory. Think of it as the beginning of our expression of gratitude.” 

Cora gives him a thumbs up, already pulling on her brown leather jacket. Derek nods his head, walking out of the room to probably grab his own. Alpha Hale shakes his hand, and leads them to the back porch. He stays there until the woods have swallowed them up. 

*  
*

The trail connecting the Hale Pack House with Healer Stilinski’s farmhouse is a barely noticeable path worn into the dirt by years of passing fauna. It twists on itself, curving around the wide trunks of ancient trees and the edges of deep pools of water in a lazy trajectory toward the farmhouse and the mountains beyond. 

“Well, there are many types of creatures that live in the wood. And you’d be surprised how many different roles they all play. Just as the smallest weed affects the tallest tree, the supernatural all depend on each other to survive,” Stiles explains animatedly to Cora, face split with excitement. His hands haven’t stopped moving since he started talking, Derek has noticed. It’s annoying. 

“So then, would a migrating being disrupt that system? How does the system compensate for changes in the environment like migratory patterns?” Cora asks. She’s been asking him questions almost nonstop since they moved far enough out of Peter’s range of hearing. Honestly, that probably wasn’t a bad idea, since Peter would probably have deemed it inappropriate to pry into the Healer’s knowledge. 

“Well it depends on a few factors to be honest, so it’s kind of hard to pinpoint. What type of creature is coming into the environment, for instance, is kind of a big factor. Does it actually suit the ecosystem that it’s entering?” 

“How it suits the ecosystem? So like, if a vampire wandered into a desert. That wouldn’t work out too well, right?” 

Stiles cackled, head thrown back to expose his long, mole covered neck. “Well, that’s one way to look at it. It’s a crude analogy, but it works.” 

Cora blushes, but the pleased look on her face for making Stilinski laugh belies any attempt she could make to say she was really upset. 

I really mean more basic characteristics of the being itself. Food. Shelter. That sort of thing. Take werewolves, for instance. They usually live and thrive in a pack. Pack dynamics are key, and members need to live in close proximity to each other. So although they could technically live separately as long as they were close by, most core members of the pack will live together in a central pack den.”

“Right, but that wouldn’t make much of an impact on where a pack would settle.” 

“True. But, am I right in assuming that when your Alpha picked this sleepy town to settle down in, it was partly due to the forest we are now literally walking through?” 

“Well, yes,” Cora acknowledges with a nod.

“There is the qualifier,” Stilinski exclaimed excitedly, beaming at Cora like she had just recovered a lost spell book, “while there are some notable packs that live within city limits, the majority of packs will find and claim territory in more rural areas. Areas with large tracts of land for roaming. Especially during the full moon and other lunar celebrations.” 

“So…,” Derek began, stopping to bite back a rush of amusement when Healer Stilinski jumped at his intrusion. Not that he could really blame him for it. Derek had never been one to enter willingly into conversation, and this forward insertion into an already lively conversation was a bit unsettling. “How would a creature...like the one that attacked me, for instance, disrupt the system?” 

The Healer hummed, chewing on his bottom lip in thought as they began to trudge up a steep hill which the path cut through. “Well, the real disruption would come through a break down in the food chain. The greater the disruption is, the more destructive the reaction. Until, given a big enough disruption, the system would eventually collapse on itself. That’s why there are... measures in place to protect the system.” 

“Like you?” Derek asks, filled with a nervous sort of energy. 

Healer Stilinski blushes, only letting out a weak laugh when his pet Kanima nudges him in the shoulder. “Well, that’s flattering. I am but one measure for the forest. Each of the elements has its own protector, but when all the pieces work together, it holds. Without the protectors, chaos and death would reign.” 

“So then, what element are you?” Cora asked, turning bodily to see him. 

But something goes wrong before the white witch could begin to answer. His ruddy cheeks, glowing from the healthy exertion of hiking the long path drain of color, becoming as white as alabaster. His moles stand out on his pale skin like dark droplets of paint, and his dark locks cling to the dampness spreading across his forehead. The next instant, his back goes ram-rod straight, as though a violent voltage of electricity was being passed through it. When Jackson touches his shoulder, he startles, sucking in a breath of air as he frantically spins in his spot, eyes searching over the dappled leaves as if looking for some invisible sign. 

He’s not expecting the Healer to bolt. 

But he does, fingers scrambling to hold purchase in the loose dirt in a mad rush to climb the incline. Though the dirt showers down in loose clods of clay behind him as his heels dig into the hillside, he only slips twice. The Kanima is there for him in an instant, a clawed hand nudging him protectively up to the crest. He and Cora are right behind them, senses flaring out to scent the danger. 

All he can pick up is a trace of spice, like clove, on the wind. 

Healer Stilinski takes off immediately when he reaches level ground, his legs pumping to carry him quickly across the forest floor. He’s a surprisingly graceful sprinter. On the trail, he had tripped every so often over the loose stones littering the path, so caught up in his diatribe with them. Now, he adeptly weaves his way around thick trees and over gnarled roots without pause. 

Something is propelling him forward. Like he’s desperate to get to wherever they’re going. Like he’ll lose something precious and irrecoverable if they don’t arrive in time. Which, for all he knows, might be the truth. Just because he’s a 24 year old werewolf doesn’t mean he knows anything at all about the way the supernatural universe worked. 

His lungs are pumping to work oxygen through his blood, and the muscles in his calves are starting to burn with the strain of maintaining this breakneck speed. He can’t imagine how the Healer must feel, only that he must be using some magical aid to help him compensate. Beside him, Cora is beginning to pant, dark hair clinging to her ruddy cheeks as she keeps pace. 

They’ve been heading in a southwesterly direction exclusively. He can tell because the heat from the autumn sun has been slowly absorbing into the leather clinging to his shoulders. Every time Healer Stilinski deviates from his path because of an obstacle of the forest (a babbling stream; a fallen dogwood; an abandoned cabin with a sunken, moss eaten roof and shattered windows) he’s always self-corrected. It’s clear that both the Healer and Jackson have been this way before. 

Both Jackson and the Healer are exuding the rich, musky scent of terror that coils in his gut and twists his stomach into knots. His own apprehension, however, finally strikes when they began to slow down. 

The section of the woods they now find themselves in are entirely different than the parts they had traveled through before. Whereas that part of the forest had been covered in dead leaves with a few moss-covered rocks, this area was almost entirely made up of hard, rocky ground with deep, dark caverns funneling down into darkness. The steady drip of water is easily heard, though he there is no visible source that he can detect. He can also smell the thick smoke now, wafting high and obscuring part of the cliff he can just see through the tops of the trees.

Healer Stilinski moves forward carelessly. His harsh, ragged breath sounds like it is being ripped out of him. Trembling fingers push branches away as he maneuvers through them, wincing as ugly brambles claw at his clothes and skin. Even when the sharp thorns cut his delicate skin, he pushes forward. The rich, red blood drips freely down his forearm sluggishly. When his Kanima tries to syphon the pain, he only shrugs with a small hiss of pain.

When they finally push into the clearing, that sick tension in his stomach explodes in nausea. His claws pop involuntarily at the same instant that his fangs break through his gums. He can hear a roaring in his ears, and his heart feels like it’s about to go into cardiac arrest. He can’t breathe. There’s a solid lump in his throat that’s scalding him and making it hard to think. It’s his family all over again. 

There’s a high, time-worn cliff that’s been weathered by millennia of storms. It’s face is polished clean and parts have been covered entirely by an ancient growth of thick vine. At its center, there is a grand entrance to a cavern boring into the rock. Thick black smoke pours out from the shattered doorway, obscuring the two ornately carved, gigantic columns. It’s an inferno inside. He can clearly hear the shriek of the flames as it devours everything flammable within. Worse, he can still hear the weak screams. Cora grasps his arm, her razor sharp claws breaking through his jacket and gouging the skin beneath. The Kanima is stepping toward his Healer, face the color of ash. 

There are no survivors outside in the grass. No injured victims staunching the flow of blood or rolling around to douse the flame. The silence in the clearing closes in on them all like a noose. Condemning them. 

Healer Stilinski launches himself toward the entrance, but Jackson pulls him back with a vice like grip on his upper arm. He’s whispering to himself under his breath, chanting, “I can do something, I can do something, I can do something,” while trying to shake Jackson off of him. 

“There’s nothing you can do, Miec,” the Kanima’s voice says softly, breaking over the familial nickname as he struggles to pull the healer back again. 

“No, I can do something,” the Healer yells, already attempting to tug himself free of his friends grasp. 

“It’s too late,” he chokes out, wrapping his free arm around the Healer’s waist to drag him back toward his chest. 

“No! It’s not too late. Let me go Jackson,” he screeches, elbowing Jackson in the solar plexus so hard that even Derek himself winces at the thud. Jackson lets go of him, crumpling down onto his knees as Healer Stilinski strides toward the doors, visibly shaking. There is the sound of something heavy collapsing inside of the cavern, and then a blast of heat hits him and forces him to take a step back. The Healer keeps moving forward, hands raised to shield himself. 

There is a sudden rumble from deep underground that makes the Earth under his feet shift. The sound doesn’t reach them for a few seconds, but when it does it’s a shriek. It’s loud enough to force him to cover his ears, and beside him Cora presses herself closer to him, burying her face in his shoulder. Healer Stilinski is on his knees now, just staring at the holocaust silently, shoulders shuddering. 

There are three more rumbles. They come in quick succession from underground, and this time the Earth really does shift under his feet. A section of the clearing to his left collapses, dragging down a copse of trees and a small section of the cliff face. The blast wave is a roar this time, echoing off the rock and the trees around them. It’s so loud, it makes his sensitive ears ache, and swallows the shattering crack of the left column, which collapses and disintegrates when it hits the ground with a dull thunk. 

He and Cora kneel on the ground, and he wraps his arms around her shoulders to shield her. But he can’t tear himself away or close his eyes. He keeps flashing in and out. Sometimes he’s looking at the cavern. Sometimes it’s his old home burning. The Healer and Jackson are standing in front of the cavern together, and then the next moment they’re kneeling next to the broken porch of his childhood home. It’s confusing and frightening and his pulse is rocketing. 

He can’t breathe anymore. He can feel his cheeks growing damp, but he cannot tell when exactly he started to cry. Healer Stilinski is sobbing quietly, and the Kanima has pulled his head into the crook of his neck. His claws are gone, his eyes clenched tight as he runs his fingers down the Healers shuddering back. 

They sit there, wallowing in the scent of death and the thick, ash infused air. He waits for it to end. 

*  
*

At some point in time as the last flares of the fire die, the Alpha arrives. 

Alpha Hale bursts through the tree line with a snarl, still in full shift. His coarse, black fir is standing straight in the air, making him look more disgusting and deadly than he could have ever imagined. His unsheathed claws dig into the hard, rocky dirt of the devastated clearing. His nostrils flare, trying to scent the air to pick up the trail of the threat, but it has long grown cold. Still, the Alpha’s blood red eyes survey the clearing with murderous intent as he stalks over to his frightened Betas. 

Both Derek and Cora Hale seem to recognize their Alpha’s presence almost immediately. Both of their bodies seemed to go boneless simultaneously, as if some invisible force had cut the cords of tension binding them. As their Alpha prowls closer, both emit pitiful whines, which the Alpha immediately answers with his own baritone rumble. 

Meanwhile, Mieczyslaw lay curled in Jackson’s arms, staring blankly at the ruin of the gnome’s burrow. His usually expressive face was so stoic, that he looked frighteningly catatonic. He could only tell he was still breathing by the shallow, wet snuffles Mieczyslaw was emitting. It was frightening to see his normally sound Miec look like so vulnerable. Jackson’s free hand gently carded through the coarse hair at the back of his neck, and he resumed his gentle cooing as he tried to snap him out of his trance.

“You back Miec? Can you hear me?” he asked softly while gently untangling   
himself from his best friend in order to get a better look at him. He gently nudges his face so that he could look into his eyes, the pad of his thumb softly tracing the outline of his jaw as he surveys him. 

Mieczyslaw’s face was a pallid grey and his movements were sluggish as he nodded his head. “They’re all dead,” he whimpered, hands clutching tightly to the cotton fabric of Jackson’s shirt as though it were anchoring him. His grip tightened for a beat, before letting go completely as though all the fight in his body had been drained from him. 

“I know,” he agreed gently. He searched his face, looking for a sign that he was about to crumple again, but found none. The old strength was returning to Mieczyslaw in increments, and already he looked better. “Can you stand?” 

He nodded silently, limbs shaky as a newborn foal as he got to his feet. He immediately surveyed the damaged clearing, shoulders sagging as he conceded “It’s really all gone.” 

“Yes. It’s all gone. I’m so sorry.” 

“I’ll have to perform the blessing now. Have to send them off before they can be intercepted,” he states, his voice raw from crying and edged with exhaustion. 

“Okay. Do you need any help?” 

“Keep them away,” he ordered, dismissing Jackson as he straightened his back and began to move toward the gaping chasm that had swallowed the rocky ground. 

“Healer Stilinski don’t go in! It’ll be unstable from the blasts. You’ll hurt yourself,” Cora shouted, stepping forward toward Mieczyslaw like she was going to try to remove him from the area by force if necessary. 

“Stop. Leave him be. He needs to do this by himself, without your interference. Let’s go to the trees. This isn’t something that you need to see,” he said, sounding bone weary even though the adrenaline coursing through him made him want to run ten miles and fight an Alpha. Still, he forced himself to walk in calm, even steps. When he reaches the ring of Pacific Willow standing anchored in the dirt, he’s half surprised to see them all there. Even the Alpha had listened without argument, though he kept shooting interested glances behind him. 

“What is he going to do?” Alpha Hale inquires as he takes up his place behind Derek and Cora to shield them from the sight of the clearing. Even now, the smell of death is thick on the air. No birds chirrup in the forest. Everything is silent. One of the Alpha’s heavy hands has settled firmly on Derek’s nape. The other absentmindedly trails up Cora’s arm to lock around her elbow. The scent tactic is obvious and seems to visibly settle the Betas more permanently. At any rate, they seem to take comfort in his overbearing stance. 

“A blessing,” he uttered hollowly, glancing back toward the clearing where Mieczyslaw was probably already chanting. All three wolves looked at him curiously, but Jackson only shook his head. It was one thing to have a conversation with Miec on a trail in the forest about the balance. It was quite a different thing to talk directly about his magic. He didn’t know these wolves and he didn’t quite understand what their interest in this situation would be. All he knew was that the Hale Pack had once been tested by fire and had failed. It made his body thrum with tension.

“What will he be blessing? The land?.” Cora presses, voice raw from crying. He can still see the tear tracks on her cheeks, as she shifts to look over her shoulder to try to get a glimpse of Miec in the clearing. It made his muscles tense, ugly anger twining in his gut like a hot branding iron. A blessing was sacred. If Miec wanted privacy, then she should have the decency to accept his wish instead of trying to act like a spoilt pup trying to peek around her Alpha’s shoulder. Luckily her Alpha gently tugged on her arm, while emitting an almost sub-vocal growl that chastised her. 

“The Kanima will not us any more about the ceremony taking place behind us. And you will do well to remember your place. He is only protecting his pack, like I would expect you to do. You will give them both the respect deserved to both of them.” It was somehow both admiration and a warning. Cora looked sufficiently cowed, while Derek just reluctantly nodded, scowling down at the dirt. 

They stood in silence for the rest of their time. The Alpha stood tall, stance wide and shoulders set. Both the Betas kept close to each other, bumping their shoulders occasionally as they scented the evening air. The residual scent of smoke was dissipating, but the smell of ash was left behind. This loss was terrible. Worse, when they got home Mieczyslaw would have to record every moment of it again into his logs. If he wasn’t emotionally wiped by the time he joined them, that alone would probably destroy him. 

He heard Mieczyslaw before he saw him. He looked dead on his feet, dark purple bruises blossoming under his eyes, hair disheveled. A new wound on his left palm was leaking blood between his fingertips. He looked a little green, and he was clutching onto his stomach desperately with his right hand. 

“Jax,” Mieczyslaw panted. 

Jackson made his way over, clamping one hand around his wrist to begin absorbing his pain while the other wound around his waist to keep him upright. 

“Are you alright, Healer Stilinski?” Alpha Hale asked, voice dripping with concern. It wasn’t surprising, most acted the same when they first saw Miec after he had performed a large or complicated spell. 

“Yes, Alpha Hale. I am sorry I did not come to you sooner. I just had a pressing matter to take care of first,” Miec apologized, offering his uninjured hand to the Alpha. 

The Alpha takes his proffered hand, squeezing lightly. “Please, Healer. It is completely fine. There is no need to apologize for doing your duty. Thank you for taking care of my pups. I feel better, knowing they were with you.”

“I did nothing, Alpha Hale. Your Betas were both strong and dependable. They took care of themselves, and tried to do the same for me. You should be proud of them.” 

The Alpha nodded, preening at the praise. “Do you need help back to the Farmhouse? It is still a few miles away. We could escort you back.” 

This was his cue. “No, thank you for the offer Alpha Hale. I will take him back to the farmhouse. He is tired and needs to eat.” 

“Very well. I am sorry for the tragedy that has befallen today.” 

“Thank you Alpha Hale. You have been most understanding.” 

“Until next time,” Alpha Hale said, gathering up Miec’s hand into his own palm gently. He watched him drag his thumb slowly across his knuckles before releasing it. 

When they were gone, Miec sagged against his shoulder with a sigh. He didn’t protest when Jackson picked him up, adjusting the familiar weight in his arms until they were both comfortable. Miec burrowed into his chest, rubbing his nose against the fabric of his sweater as he began the long trek home. It didn’t take long until his ears were filled with the gentle sighs of Miec asleep. 

The farmhouse was a welcome sight when he finally crested the hill and left the cover of the trees. Miec had only stirred awake once on the journey home, but had quickly fallen back asleep after mumbling a few broken sentences. When they entered the familiar kitchen, he finally let himself relax for the first time. 

He tucked Miec gently into bed, drawing the covers up and around his shoulders. Sometimes he was reminded that he and Mieczyslaw were really only boys masquerading as adults. Watching Miec sleep was always one of those moments. He brushed his lips against his pale forehead, letting them linger for a second before walking away and shutting the door. 

Back in the kitchen with the copper teakettle on the burner, Jackson dropped his head into his arms and wondered what he was supposed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come and hang out with me on tumblr! Talk to me, leave me a prompt, be my bff!   
> http://alphasknot.tumblr.com/


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